


well then, ask me to stay

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ritz to the Rubble [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, M/M, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), now with art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: It’s an odd thing to think about, wanting to watch someone sleep.  This isn’t the only thing he’s fantasized about, of course. It tends to be an epilogue to the thoughts that creep in when the night is dark and he’s feeling particularly lonely.  Thoughts of burnished copper hair and sunflower yellow eyes and sounds and skin and lips and teeth. They all end the same way: Crowley peaceful and sleeping and Aziraphale being privileged enough to see him.This might be the closest he’ll ever get, he thinks as he rubs small concentric circles into Crowley’s shoulder with his thumb, a gesture he hopes is comforting in some way.  He’s been in love with the demon for so long, and the thought of them meeting their end soon without Crowley knowing the extent of that love... Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ritz to the Rubble [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619113
Comments: 135
Kudos: 671
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Ineffable First Times, Top Aziraphale Recs





	well then, ask me to stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lurlur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Хорошо, тогда попроси меня остаться](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840093) by [Princess_of_logic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_of_logic/pseuds/Princess_of_logic), [T_h_e_r_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_h_e_r_o/pseuds/T_h_e_r_o)



> HAHA so here's my first ever attempt at an Explicit fic so please be nice TT_TT
> 
> This is a gift for the wonderful Lurlur, who in just a short time has become such a wonderful friend to me and I love her very much xD
> 
> This is part of my songfic gifts for 2019, this one based on [The Pavillion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXdLwIzmo3s) by Coheed and Cambria, which is an excellent song GO LISTEN TO IT!!
> 
> Special thanks to the wonderful and amazing and ever patient [apocryphalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/pseuds/apocryphalia) for the beta work on this, I Owe You My Life xD
> 
> Now featuring [absolutely stunning art](https://twitter.com/flamingbuttART/status/1228023050337210368) by Marleena! Check her out on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flamingbuttART) <3 <3

_Hang on it's clear that the road's about to get rough  
  
_ _Oh, can you hear the ringing its left in my ear?  
  
Over and over, the light hits the dusk  
  
It's a choice that I make but for us I choose to give it all up  
  
You want me here? Well then ask me to stay._

_\---_

“It burned down, remember?” Crowley says with the same temperament as someone approaching a frightened animal.

Oh right, he’d forgotten about that. The bookshop is gone. All of the books he’d been collecting and meticulously curating over the years, gone in a flash of fire. Aziraphale has never felt more adrift than right now. He’s staring at the wet pavement, watching the street lamps flicker in the puddles. He can’t explain why, but it’s soothing. Maybe just the fact that everything is still here. The world is still turning and Aziraphale gets to go right along with it for as long as he has left.

"You can stay at my place,” Crowley says, breaking the angel from his streetlight reveries, “if you like.” He adds that last bit on quickly, trying not to overstep a boundary. Just like he always does, just like Aziraphale knows the demon will always do. He makes sure to leave the angel a way out.

“I don’t think my side would like that,” he replies, always giving Crowley an out in turn. This is the dance they do. For millennia now. Crowley offers, Aziraphale hesitates, Crowley offers again. It’s as old as time itself. Goodbye for now. Echoes and echoes. Over and over again.

“You don’t have a side anymore,” Crowley says, matter of fact as anything, “neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”

Crowley keeps talking but Aziraphale can’t hear him. _We’re on our own side._ It rattles in his head, sinks down into the heart of him. In that place he keeps things locked up tight. Things like oysters. And Hamlet. And books of prophecy once saved, now gone.

_On our own side._ And what does that entail? Aziraphale can’t help but wonder. 

He has an extensive catalog of every stolen glance noticed. Of every brush of hands drawn out a bit too long. Every softened word, every favor done. His personal breadcrumb collection; the clues to the mystery of a demon’s heart. Carefully and lovingly filed away. The Dewey Decimal System of an angel’s longing.

Crowley waves down the bus for Oxford (bound for London) and Aziraphale follows. He’s moving on autopilot, after the day he’s had. His new corporation still feels a bit itchy and his guilt drapes over his shoulders like a blanket. He knows this is nothing compared to how tired Crowley must be; holding his Bentley together, stopping time. Aziraphale feels a well of affection bubble up inside of him. _Our own side,_ his mind repeats again as they board the bus. Crowley falls onto one of the benches, slouching against the window. His head making an audible ‘thunk’ when it hits the glass.

This is the part where Aziraphale would usually take the seat in front of him. Plausible deniability. Just two strangers on a bus, nothing to see here.

But they aren’t that, are they? They haven’t been strangers in millennia. Their sides already know. _You don’t have a side anymore, neither of us do._ He drops into the seat directly next to Crowley, as though he’s done it a billion times. Crowley looks up at him, dark glasses and an arched eyebrow. Aziraphale just smiles at him. Crowley shrugs and props his chin on his left hand. The demon’s right hand stays perched on his knee, mere inches away, as he looks out the window.

Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s hand. It’s right there, he could reach out. Could touch. Could comfort. God – no, better not bring Her into this – _someone_ knows they could both use a bit of comfort right now. A hand seems a safe place to start. The angel steals a glance at Crowley. The demon’s head is bumping against the window as the bus drives on, he’s probably on the verge of sleep at this point.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches out. He covers Crowley’s hand lightly with his own, not wanting to be demanding or to take more than might be given. He can feel Crowley still next to him. Not breathing and not moving; for all the world a statue.

Aziraphale turns to look at him. Crowley’s expression is even more lost on him than usual, the glass reflection only bolstering the effect of the sunglasses. “Crowley,” Aziraphale says gently, “are you all right?”

Crowley nods and slowly flips his hand over, turning his head to face the angel. The look on Crowley’s face now already has a place in his catalogue. Aziraphale is reminded of a misty night in Soho. In 1967. Crowley moved too fast for him, back then.

_We’re on our own side._ It won’t stop echoing. Crowley’s been screaming it at him for days. If only he’d been smart enough to listen. If only he had trusted Crowley like he had always known he could. Aziraphale gently and slowly laces their fingers, marveling at how well they fit together. Like they were meant to be entwined there the whole time.

He gives Crowley’s hand a very light squeeze, and it is returned almost immediately. This is new for them, but it feels right. Feels purposeful. He files it away, watching the passing lights on the motorway. Things are going to be rough, sooner rather than later, but they have each other; they always have.

And Agnes knows _something_ , he just has to puzzle out what that something is.

Crowley is stiff as a statue, staring straight ahead, and Aziraphale isn’t sure why. “Crowley,” he says, softly as he can, “you can sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“Could…could do with that,” the demon says with a clear crack in his voice (filed away under “c”) before returning to his position against the glass.

“That window can’t possibly be comfortable,” Aziraphale says, trying to needle for what he wants rather than asking outright. He’s never offered a shoulder for Crowley to sleep on before; he isn’t quite sure how.

“Nah, ‘s fine, I’ll manage.” As if to further Aziraphale’s point, the bus hits a particularly nasty pothole, bouncing Crowley’s head with a thud.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, “You silly serpent.”

Crowley looks back at him again, and Aziraphale is feeling even braver than before. He unlinks their hands, noting the twitch in the corner of Crowley’s mouth when he does, and instead wraps his arm around the demon, pulling him closer and guiding Crowley’s head to rest on his shoulder with a gentle hand. “There, much better.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, barely audible, “you don’t have to – “ 

“Nonsense, my dear,” the angel says, “you did so much for me today – for everyone – let me do this.”

“Ah, right then,” Crowley says with clear trepidation before drifting off into a light sleep. Aziraphale stays awake, keeping a vigilant watch. Not so much for danger, but more for his own benefit. So rarely does he get to see Crowley in these moments - unguarded and vulnerable, entrusting him with his own safety. It’s humbling in the strangest way.

A demon trusting an angel to protect him. Somewhere, Aziraphale is sure, She has to be laughing.

He can’t see Crowley’s face from his position, but he imagines it peaceful - his brow unfurrowed, his smile serene. He’s imagined the sight of this more times than he can count. He knows Crowley sleeps (that stint after 1862 was particularly painful and lonely), but he’s never been around for it.

It’s an odd thing to think about, wanting to watch someone sleep. This isn’t the only thing he’s fantasized about, of course. It tends to be an epilogue to the thoughts that creep in when the night is dark and he’s feeling particularly lonely. Thoughts of burnished copper hair and sunflower yellow eyes and sounds and skin and lips and teeth. They all end the same way: Crowley peaceful and sleeping and Aziraphale being privileged enough to see him.

This might be the closest he’ll ever get, he thinks as he rubs small concentric circles into Crowley’s shoulder with his thumb, a gesture he hopes is comforting in some way. He’s been in love with the demon for so long, and the thought of them meeting their end soon without Crowley knowing the extent of that love... Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

He smiles to himself when he hears a very small, very soft snore from the sleeping demon on his shoulder. Further emboldened by how well things are going, he presses a soft kiss into Crowley’s red hair. The demon doesn’t stir, content to sleep for now.

Aziraphale is overwhelmed with affection. The locks he’s kept deep down in himself, on his heart, are rusting through. He’s brimming with love and want and affection and so, so many things. 

“Never thought I could love anything this much,” Aziraphale whispers into Crowley’s hair as the locks on his heart shatter into pieces. “Angels are made of love and made _to_ love, but not like this.” He’s given it voice, and there’s no turning back. Crowley stays sleeping next to him, none the wiser. And, oh, how Aziraphale’s heart _aches_. He feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. If they can’t come up with a plan…

Best not to think about that, he decides as they pull into Mayfair. “We’re here, dearest,” he says, nuzzling his nose into Crowley’s hair. He smells like motor oil and smoke, unsurprising after the events of the day. He also smells a bit like cinnamon with just a tiny hint of brimstone, those things that are so quintessentially _Crowley_.

“Hmmphzawhat?” Crowley snorts, bolting upright. A deeper sleep than Aziraphale had initially thought, then.

“We’re here, Crowley.”

“Oh, right, flat. Night, staying…thing, right,” the demon stammers. They leave the bus (with a couple of minor miracles to help the bus driver: Aziraphale’s to keep him out of trouble, Crowley’s to help him stay awake) and head towards the front entrance. Their hands entwine together again, as though it happens all the time. Aziraphale can’t help but hold his breath.

“All right, angel?” Crowley asks as he taps a number into the keypad.

“Yes, very,” Aziraphale says, he thinks, almost too quickly.

They pass the elevator ride in silence, and Crowley does his best to unlock his front door with only one hand, unwilling to let go of Aziraphale’s for even a moment _._

After 5 minutes of fumbling with his pockets and getting nowhere, Crowley finally procures the keys, immediately dropping them on the floor. He looks at them and snarls, snapping his fingers. The door unlocks and clicks open and the keys find themselves deposited on the hook by the door quite suddenly.

“Anyway, uh, here it is,” Crowley says, gesturing to the stark and mostly empty room. It’s not quite as sterile as heaven, but it’s very close. Aziraphale finds it hard to believe someone as warm as Crowley could live somewhere like this. There’s a pile of wet clothes on the floor in one doorway and papers scattered throughout the hallway. The only room Aziraphale can see that doesn’t look ransacked is one to his left, filled with beautiful green plants.

“Been a bit of a day, angel, didn’t have time to clean up for company.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Aziraphale says, snapping his own fingers. The wet pile of clothes evaporates and the pages rush down the hallway as if someone hit the rewind button on reality. Crowley shoots him a look. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the angel says. “It’s the least I could do, since you are opening your doors for me. Which I appreciate more than you could ever-“

“ _Don’t_ say thank you, angel, you know it makes me itchy.”

Aziraphale chuckles at this, amused as always by Crowley’s aversion to compliments. But he can’t help but notice that Crowley still hasn’t let go of his hand, and now the demon is unabashedly staring directly at Aziraphale’s face.

“Angel,” Crowley says gently, “what are we doing?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong dear, but I do believe we’re standing in the entryway?”

“Don’t deflect, you always deflect, I’m talking about this,” Crowley says, lifting their joined hands between them and waving them back and forth. “What is this about, and where did it come from?”

He’s going for annoyed, and Aziraphale knows that, but the fondness slips out anyway. Aziraphale can hear some very specific things in this voice he’s known for so long. A bit of wonder, a bit of confusion, but the last bit is what gets him.

Crowley’s voice is full of hope; absolutely brimming with it.

And of course, it is. It couldn’t be anything else. It couldn’t be _anyone_ else. This catalogue that Aziraphale has collected and hoarded and turned over and over in his hands for millennia could never lead him to any other conclusion. It’s always been them, together. Ever since a yellow-eyed demon had comforted him on the wall of a garden; ever since he had lifted his wing to shelter said demon as it started to rain.

_I should have kissed you then._ The thought comes to Aziraphale completely unbidden. What would life have been like if he had? If he’d acted on those first impulses?

No way to know now, and no need for regrets. Crowley is still searching the angel’s face, and being under the full force of that gaze, even behind the glasses, the feeling is unmistakable.

Angels can sense love, and it’s radiating off of Crowley in waves.

_We’re on our own side._

Finding his bravery again, Aziraphale lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses each of Crowley’s knuckles in turn. “My dear, my _dearest,_ ” he says, rather breathlessly, “my darling demon, I do believe there are more than a few things we need to talk about.”

He reaches with his other hand towards Crowley’s glasses, stopping mere inches away. “May I, my dear?” Crowley doesn’t give him a chance to do anything, reaching up of his own accord and throwing his sunglasses across the room. Aziraphale tuts at him, “Well, that was a bit unnecessary.”

“You wanted them gone, now they’re gone, doesn’t matter how,” Crowley manages to croak out. Aziraphale could pretend to be upset, like he normally would, but it’s impossible when Crowley’s eyes are shining like that.

“I missed seeing your eyes, dearest,” Aziraphale whispers, his thumb tracing the side of Crowley’s face, feeling him lean into the touch, “They’ve always reminded me of the sunrise. Or sunflowers. Or gold.” He punctuates each of these with another kiss to Crowley’s knuckles.

“Aziraphale, you can’t just say things like that,” Crowley says, almost under his breath.

“Why ever not?” Aziraphale asks, crowding even closer to him, bridging the scant few inches keeping them apart.

Crowley drops Aziraphale’s hand and wraps his arms around him, holding tight, tighter than Aziraphale thought he could. The demon buries his face in Aziraphale’s neck and the angel feels another wave of affection inside himself.

“You can’t just say things like that, it does things to me.” Despite the protests, Aziraphale can feel Crowley smiling. And isn’t that just the funniest thing? So distant just yesterday, so close now. Aziraphale wonders - as he wraps his arms around the demon, one hand coming to rest in that copper hair - just how close Crowley might be willing to be tonight. And he wants – oh dear God, how he wants. And Crowley is here, in his arms, face buried in his neck, nuzzling him there with his nose.

“What kind of things?” Aziraphale asks, his voice low as he runs his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck, “does it do to you, that is.” He knows his meaning is plain, he’s an angel, not a shut-in.

“Angel, you’re trying to kill me,” Crowley says with a groan, wrapping his arms around the angel somehow tighter. “This is all a dream and you’re trying to kill me. I’m still asleep on the bus and you are in my dream trying to kill me.”

“No dreams, I’m afraid, dearest” - Aziraphale kisses his temple - “I’m right here.”

Crowley takes a deep and steadying breath. “I was at the bookshop, you know,” he says, voice cracking, “when it was on fire. I- I ran in.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?” Aziraphale pushes him away slightly so he can look at Crowley’s eyes. The pupils are blown wide and there are tears starting to roll down his face. Aziraphale wipes the wetness away with the pads of his thumbs, furrowing his brow in concern.

“Couldn’t sense you; couldn’t find you, had to try.” The demon chokes out a sob, tears coming more freely. “But you were gone…and now you aren’t.” Crowley clings to him once more, and Aziraphale buries his head in Crowley’s chest this time, wrapping his arms tight around Crowley’s waist.

“I should’ve trusted you to begin with, Crowley,” he says as he nuzzles closer.

“Don’t blame you, ‘m a demon.”

“True as that may be, you’re the only being in my life who’s ever been honest with me,” Aziraphale says through his own tears, “and I should’ve paid more attention to that. I should’ve gone with you to Alpha Centauri.” He feels Crowley press a kiss into his hair and he could float away on the joy of that alone.

“Don’t say that, angel-“

“I _will_ say that – I don’t care,” Aziraphale interrupts him, stepping back and running a thumb over Crowley’s jaw. He’d never wanted to lie to Crowley, never wanted to shut him out. “I should’ve gone, should’ve left it all behind. I should’ve been with you, in the end. And I wanted to, oh Crowley, you have to know that I wanted to. Everything I’ve ever wanted is just to be with you, and I could’ve had that, we could be away in our own world and we aren’t, because I was a coward-“ 

He’s stopped by a finger against his mouth, “Angel, you didn’t let me finish.”

Aziraphale nods, Crowley’s finger still resting softly against his lips, his own hand still gently cupping Crowley’s cheek. “Aziraphale, if we had gone to Alpha Centauri, the world would have ended. Adam wouldn’t have had that moment we gave him, and Satan would’ve won out in the end. Now the world gets to keep spinning, and we had a hand in that, so don’t tell me you’d rather have gone to Alpha Centauri.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale admits, leaning to close the space between them once more, focused on those honeyed amber eyes, “but don’t think for a second that I don’t want to be with you.”

“Angel,” Crowley says, swallowing hard, but he’s leaning into this, too. “What are you saying?”

“Something I should’ve said a long, long time ago.”

Aziraphale closes the last of the distance, and it’s like a revelation. Crowley’s lips fit against his just as perfectly as their hands fit together. It’s chaste, barely a press of skin to skin, but it’s been six thousand years in the making. It can be nothing but perfect.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, breaking off, eyes cast low. “I’ve loved you for so long, it’s so much a part of me. More than Heaven, even. I don’t need them, I haven’t for a very long time. I need _you_ , Crowley. You’re the only thing in life I need.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley kisses him again, more desperate this time. Aziraphale moans when Crowley takes his bottom lip in his teeth before breaking off. “Aziraphale, angel, I love you too, I always have.”

“I know, dearest, I know.” The angel closes the distance once more, darting his tongue out for just a moment and delighting in it when Crowley opens his mouth to him. He explores Crowley’s mouth, running his tongue along the demon’s teeth, letting his mind wander when he feels how sharp the demon’s canines are, and they break apart again. “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up. I’m sorry that we might only have tonight.”

“Angel,” Crowley gasps out before diving back in, giving as good as he gets. His tongue isn’t like a normal human tongue, and the implications are staggering for Aziraphale, who lets him in quite willingly before they break apart again. “Angel, I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

“Nor will I let them do anything to you.” Aziraphale peppers kisses over Crowley’s face: on his cheeks, his nose, down his jaw. “But we’ll worry about that later, right now I want to spend as much time as I can showing you…just how much…I love you.”

Each of these sentiments is punctuated with a kiss, moving further from Crowley’s jaw down to his neck. Aziraphale takes hold of that ridiculous skinny gray scarf and pulls Crowley that much closer to him. Chest to chest, flush completely. They stumble backwards until Crowley’s back hits a wall, both of them too preoccupied with the angel’s ministrations to care much about silly things like location.

Aziraphale is reveling in the sounds Crowley makes as he explores that tantalizing stretch of skin just below his Adam’s apple with his mouth and his tongue. The angel adds just a hint of teeth and finds he has to create a whole new section of his catalogue just to find a proper place for the keening noise that comes out of Crowley at _that_.

“Angel, ‘Ziraphale, angel,” Crowley repeats over and over, fingers snaking their way into pale blond curls as Aziraphale finds his mouth again. Crowley grips his hair just hard enough to hurt and Aziraphale finds it a more than welcome sensation, and he lets out what can only be described (if he were the one describing) as a horridly wanton moan.

Crowley smirks at him. Aziraphale resolves to not let the demon have the last laugh on this one and lunges in for another kiss, wiping that look off Crowley’s face. The angel’s hands are everywhere; there’s so much he’s never touched, and he can’t seem to figure out where to start.

The long fingers entwined in his hair uncurl and Aziraphale makes a low whining sound in his throat at the loss of contact, but soon enough the dexterous fingers are working at the knot of his bowtie and then pushing off the shoulders of his coat.

He responds in kind, shoving Crowley’s black jacket off his shoulders before Crowley starts working on the waistcoat buttons, kissing and nipping at Aziraphale’s neck as he does. Aziraphale arches into the contact, tilting his head to the side to allow Crowley better access, and _oh,_ if the hair pulling was a thing, whatever it is Crowley is doing with his _teeth_ is very much _another thing_.

Something catches the angel’s eye, just down the hallway. A statue. A very familiar statue of an eagle taking flight. His heart swells as Crowley finishes working the buttons of his waistcoat. Aziraphale shrugs it off and runs his hands under the hem of Crowley’s shirt, pushing underneath and finally, _finally,_ he can feel Crowley’s skin under his palms.

Crowley is warm to the touch, for a cold-blooded creature. Aziraphale is pleasantly surprised by this, and he runs his hands over Crowley’s chest before pushing the shirt up and over the demon’s head.

Aziraphale lets his eyes wander over Crowley’s now-bare chest, a sight he hasn’t had the privilege of seeing since Egypt or Sparta. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from staring, even if he were inclined to try. “Have I ever told you,” Aziraphale asks, trailing kisses along Crowley’s neck again, “just how maddeningly attractive your corporation is?”

The angel bites down lightly at the junction of Crowley’s neck and shoulder, earning him a moan. “Ngk...guh…not that I can remember,” the demon stammers. Aziraphale smiles as he continues trailing the kisses further down onto Crowley’s chest, reveling in the fact that he can cause this loss of control. Long fingers grip his pale hair and pull him back up and into another searing kiss, lips slotting together, desperate and wanting.

They’re pressed as close to each other as they can be, and Aziraphale can feel just how undone Crowley is by the obvious bulge in his trousers. Not that Aziraphale is faring any better at the moment.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly and nuzzles his face against Crowley’s. “Darling,” he whispers softly into Crowley’s ear, “you do have a bedroom around here somewhere, I would assume?”

Aziraphale pulls back to look Crowley in the eyes and _oh,_ that is a sight. His golden yellow eyes are practically sparkling, the pupils wide. Another wave of love crashes over Aziraphale as Crowley snaps his fingers.

They fall onto the bed together, Crowley on his back and Aziraphale over him. He kisses the demon fiercely, pressing him down into the mattress. Crowley’s hands are in his hair and he’s _pulling_ again and Aziraphale thinks he could spend the rest of his days lost in that sensation alone. But there are so many more he wants to feel; one's own hand is nothing compared to a warm body. And there’s only ever been one warm body that has made Aziraphale feel like this.

“Crowley,” he says, breaking the kiss and nuzzling the demon’s nose with his own. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Am I…am I _sure_?” Crowley stares at him blankly for a beat before covering his face with his hands. “Six thousand bloody years, got me half naked in my own bed, now he asks if I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it, dearest,” Aziraphale says, kissing right along Crowley’s snake tattoo, breathing in that familiar cinnamon and fire. “I just want to make sure you want this, too.”

“Yes, Aziraphale, I bloody want this! Why would you even-” Aziraphale cuts him off with yet another kiss, this one accompanied by him rolling his hips.

“Peace, I will stop thy mouth,” Aziraphale says with a smirk, sinking on top of Crowley until their bodies are flush together, kissing him again.

“Don’t bring Shakespeare into this, angel,” Crowley says, sound muffled against Aziraphale’s mouth. He pushes Aziraphale back up and gets to work on the buttons of the angel’s shirt. After three buttons Crowley gives up and snaps his fingers, and they find themselves both down to just their boxers.

“Impatient?”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley says with a shrug. “What’s the point if I don’t have some fun on occasion?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Aziraphale says, rolling his hips once again. This contact, separated by only two thin layers of cotton, shoots sparks up the angel’s spine. And the sound it brings out of Crowley doesn’t fit in any filing system the angel could ever devise; he’s pretty sure the demon will never admit to making it in the first place. 

Aziraphale can’t figure out what to do with his hands. There’s no barrier between them now, and the skin to skin contact is intoxicating. Crowley seems to be having a similar conundrum, but what is one supposed to do after six millennia of “don’t touch”?

Crowley’s hands ghost over his back, exploring every curve of him, and Aziraphale feels more seen than he ever has in his existence. Aziraphale mirrors what he can of the motion, stroking his hands along Crowley’s sides, down his rib cage and down the outside of the demon’s thighs.

To Aziraphale, they fit together perfectly, Crowley’s sharp edges around his own soft curves. Aziraphale is so drunk on kissing and contact and _touch_ he’s having trouble remembering where he ends and where Crowley begins. But that’s been their lives for quite a while now, hasn’t it?

He can feel Crowley’s fingers on the waistband of his boxers and he loses just a bit of composure, taking Crowley’s bottom lip in his teeth before finally breaking the kiss.

“What do you want, darling?” Aziraphale asks, all the while stroking a gentle touch, light as a feather, up and down Crowley’s side.

“I just want you, angel,” the demon says breathlessly, “I’ve always just wanted you.” He snakes his hand into the angel’s boxers and grabs hold of his ass. “Fuck me, Aziraphale.”

The angel can’t stop himself from lurching forward to kiss Crowley desperately and hungrily on the mouth before peppering kisses all over his face. “Whatever you want, my dearest,” he practically growls into Crowley’s ear. “You’ve always done so much for me, let me take care of you.”

And Crowley has, hasn’t he? That mental catalogue of favors and small acts of service is full to bursting, and Aziraphale still feels that guilt in the pit of his stomach. Crowley gives and gives and gives, and more often than not Aziraphale pushes him away. Not anymore, not now. And never, ever again.

“Angel, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Crowley says with a whine as Aziraphale traces his finger along the hem of his boxer briefs. 

“Be a fun thing to put on the discoporation paperwork,” Aziraphale chuckles as he sits up, working Crowley’s skin-tight underwear off. “Might be a commendation for you, darling. Tempting an angel to _lust_.”

“Already tempted you to gluttony and greed and sloth, never got any commendations for that,” Crowley says around the anxiousness in his voice. “Only reward I’d need for this is happening right now.”

The blush across Crowley’s face is almost too much for Aziraphale to handle, he’s sure he must be practically glowing at this point with happiness. He frees Crowley’s erection, already glistening at the tip. “You’re so gorgeous, dearest,” Aziraphale says, voice full of reverence. “I should very much like to make love to you.”

Crowley swallows hard and grips the sheets. “Nobody stopping you, angel,” he says breathlessly.

Aziraphale leans down to kiss him again, trailing his hand down to Crowley’s cock, running his thumb across the tip. “Let me take care of you, Crowley. Let me show you how much I love you.”

Crowley moans under the contact, back arching off the mattress. Aziraphale wraps his fingers around the demon’s cock, slowly pumping up and down. Crowley clings to him like Aziraphale is the only thing grounding him to this world, one hand in the angel’s hair and the other splayed on his back.

“So handsome,” the angel whispers into Crowley’s ear. He quickens his speed, relishing the little gasps and moans that Crowley is making. “So wonderful and so good to me.” Aziraphale trails his way down Crowley’s neck, kissing bruises into the sensitive skin there, down to the demon’s chest where he swipes his tongue across a nipple, making Crowley gasp. His own erection becoming almost painful, but he ignores it in favor of the sounds Crowley makes.

“Angel,” Crowley cries out, voice cracking. “Angel, please, you’re killing me here.”

Aziraphale smiles at him and captures his lips again, running his free hand into the demon’s hair. He grabs hold and tilts Crowley’s head to the side with one sharp movement and sucks a deep purple bruise into the demon’s neck as he cries out. He trails back up to Crowley’s ear with his tongue. “What do you want, Crowley?” he practically growls. He’s never heard his own voice quite this way, and based on the way Crowley twitches in his hand it’s having an effect.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley pants and writhes as Aziraphale continues kissing under his ear, tasting the salt-sweet sweat there. “Angel, I want you inside me.”

Aziraphale hums low as he takes Crowley’s earlobe in his teeth and pulls. “I thought you’d never ask, my darling.” 

Crowley manages to raise one hand, about to snap his fingers. Aziraphale grabs him by the wrist. “No, my dear, not like that.” He brings Crowley’s wrist towards him and presses soft kisses to the sensitive area there. “I’d rather like to make love to you the old fashioned way.”

Crowley whines when Aziraphale stops stroking him, but he doesn’t make him wait long. A quick miracle for some lube and Aziraphale’s finger is circling him and Crowley is gasping like a man drowning at sea.

“Angel,” he cries out, trying to sink down closer and find some friction. “Angel, _please._ ”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Aziraphale says with a smirk - letting that bit of a bastard streak show - before pushing his finger inside. Crowley arches off the bed with a strangled cry, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, sinking his hands into Aziraphale’s hair once again.

Aziraphale thinks he could get used to this sight, if they can find a way to survive. Crowley writhing beneath him, glistening with sweat. Bruises forming on his neck and his chest that Aziraphale is responsible for. Markers to tell Heaven and Hell and whoever else _back off, this one’s mine._

He works in a second finger and Crowley shouts his name, scraping Aziraphale’s scalp with his fingernails, and Aziraphale gasps. “So good to me, Crowley, you’re so very, very _good_ to me.”

“‘M not good,” Crowley says in between breaths. “‘M never good.”

Aziraphale answers by curling his fingers just so, and based on how Crowley arches and scrapes and _writhes_ he’s pretty sure he’s found that spot that makes him see stars.

“‘Ziraphale,” Crowley gasps out hoarsely, his voice starting to go. “Need you, please.”

Aziraphale sinks down into Crowley’s arms and kisses him deeply. “As you wish, my love.”

He removes his fingers and lines himself up, hesitating for a moment. “Are you ready, dear?”

“For God’s sake, Aziraphale,” Crowley snaps as he squirms, heels digging into Aziraphale’s back trying to draw him in. “Just fuck me already!”

“Don’t bring Her into this, dearest,” Aziraphale says as he starts to push in, enamored with the demon so thoroughly wanting beneath him. He pushes in slow, giving Crowley time to adjust to him; the demon is still digging his heels in, urging him on. Crowley’s breath is coming in short, shallow bursts, and there’s not a hint of white to be seen in his eyes anymore. Aziraphale thinks he’s absolutely beautiful.

The angel works his way in until they are flush together, leaning down to kiss Crowley again. It’s desperate this time, all tongues and teeth, but Aziraphale feels like he could stay here forever, buried inside his demon. And there’s a thought to be had.

“Ask me again,” Aziraphale whispers against Crowley’s lips. 

“What?” Crowley says, attempting to squirm but being effectively pinned down. “Aziraphale I swear to Go-Sata- _somebody,_ if you don’t _move_.”

“Don’t be crass,” Aziraphale rolls his eyes and swats Crowley on the arm.

“Says the angel with his dick buried inside a demon,” Crowley says in the most uncool way possible, breath haggard and without any of the bite his jabs would usually have. Aziraphale kisses him again.

“Ask me again, from the bus stop,” Aziraphale says when they break, staring deep into Crowley’s eyes. “I won’t move until you ask me again.”

Crowley is silent for a moment. Then, softly and reverently, voice barely a whisper, he asks, “Aziraphale, will you stay?”

Aziraphale leans down over him, capturing the demon’s lips once more, pouring as much love and devotion into the kiss as he can. Crowley kisses back in kind, running his hands down the curve of the angel’s back. They’re both breathing hard when they separate (despite not needing to), and Aziraphale leans his forehead against Crowley’s.

“My dearest,” Aziraphale gasps into their shared atmosphere. “Hours. Days. Centuries. A hundred centuries; Crowley, I want you, and I want you and our own side for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll burn heaven to the ground myself, be the reason hell freezes over, if they ever try to take you from me. Our own side. Until every single radiant star you ever hung in the sky burns out, and even after that I will still be yours, whatever is left of me then.”

And with that, Aziraphale finally starts to move, and the sounds coming from Crowley are works of poetry that could never be captured in something so simple as a book. Aziraphale pulls out slowly before slamming back in, finding that same place his fingers already had, the friction and heat and pull overwhelming him.

“Our own side, Crowley, from now until always.” He’s breathing heavy and slick with sweat, both of them are, and there’s nowhere else Aziraphale would rather be than in this moment. “I love you, daft demon, and I always will. I will never give you reason to doubt that again.”

Aziraphale sits back up, looping one arm around Crowley’s leg to get a better angle. He cups Crowley’s cheek with his other hand and moans when Crowley takes his thumb into his mouth, circling it with his not-quite-human tongue and scraping it with his not-quite-human teeth.

“Angel, Aziraphale, _please,_ ” Crowley whines around the thumb in his mouth. Aziraphale takes it out with a pop that leaves both of them giggling for a moment before wrapping his hand around Crowleys’ cock once more, stroking in time with the rhythm he’s already been setting.

The demon’s moans are getting louder and louder, and he throws an arm over his face to muffle them. Aziraphale releases his leg, grabbing the arm covering the demon’s face and pinning his wrist to the bed before kissing him deeply. “No, my darling, I want to hear everything.”

“Angel,” Crowley gasps, “Angel I’m close.”

“Let go for me, my darling, I’m right here,” Aziraphale breathes, “I’ve got you.”

With that Crowley screams out, pulsing in between them into Aziraphale’s hand, scraping fingernails down the angel’s back in a way that should not be as delicious as it is. His pinned wrist shakes under Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale feels Crowley clench around him and knows he won’t last much longer. He moves to pull out, but is stopped by Crowley’s insistent heel, still dug into his back.

“No, I want it, Aziraphale,” Crowley gasps through his aftershocks.

This and the hazy blissful look on Crowley’s face are enough to send Aziraphale over the edge, and he spills out deep inside his demon, biting down hard on the demon’s neck. They stay like that - Aziraphale’s mouth on Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s fingernails on one hand dug into the angel’s back, his other wrist still pinned to the mattress, breathing heavily before Aziraphale falls to one side.

He rather reluctantly pulls himself out of Crowley. Celestial beings don’t have a use for things like refractory periods, which is something Aziraphale fully intends to explore at a later date, but for now he’s exhausted. He gathers Crowley up into his arms, placing soft kisses to the bruises he created while in the throes of passion. A quick snap of fingers and the mess is gone.

Crowley nuzzles his face into Aziraphale’s chest, content to be held here, and it’s one of the most endearing things that Aziraphale has ever seen. The mask is gone and Crowley is vulnerable and open, and it makes the angel’s heart soar. He kisses the top of Crowley’s head. Once. Then again. Maybe a third time for good measure. After a few minutes, he loses count.

“Angel,” Crowley sighs, muffled by how snuggled into the angel’s chest he is. “Love you.”

Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley’s hair, dropping a few more kisses for good measure. “I love you, too, dearest. Get some sleep.”

In mere seconds, Crowley drifts off in his arms, and Aziraphale’s heart is full to bursting. He sighs and finds himself drifting off as well. Aziraphale has never been one for sleep, but even he has his limits. 

\---

Soft light from the sunrise filters through the gap in the curtains; dust particles dance in the air. He awakens with his arms wrapped around Crowley, who is sleeping contentedly, curled up into his chest. The angel thinks his heart might just give out and stop. He lazily cards his fingers through the demon’s hair, content to just feel the weight of Crowley in his arms. _On our own side._

_Yes,_ the angel thinks to himself, _we really are, aren’t we?_ He drops a kiss onto the top of Crowley’s head, feels him snuggle even closer, wrapping around the angel like the snake he is. It’s sickeningly endearing, and Aziraphale can’t help but smile. 

The beginnings of an idea had formed in his head the night before. The thought of them being entwined so wholly, each a part of the other. That’s how they could win their freedom, switching faces. He’ll talk to Crowley about it when the demon wakes up. But for now, he’s content to let him sleep. 

Aziraphale scoots away just enough to be able to see his dear demon’s face. His brow is unfurrowed, his smile is serene. Whatever Crowley is dreaming about is something wonderful and something wanted. The sight is better than anything Aziraphale had ever seen in his fantasies, made wonderful by being _real_.

Crowley lets out a snore and a very muffled word sounding very much like “angel.” Aziraphale will never, even if they get a million more centuries together, admit to Crowley that he was being something so base and undemonic as “ _adorable”_ (but he will file it away, under “a” in the catalogue of his heart; a catalogue he expects to be very full very soon).

He pulls Crowley close to him once more, relishing the ability to do so. As Crowley snores away in his arms, Aziraphale is left awake to think about the future. A future with the only being in all creation he’s ever truly _loved_. He makes vague plans in his mind for a picnic, for how to blend their lives together into this flat. He drifts back off to sleep and dreams of a little cottage by the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and scream with me on [Tumblr](https://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com)!


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